


Newsies On the Roof

by BuboMuzziusFTW



Category: Fiddler on the Roof - Bock/Harnick/Stein, Newsies (1992)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 19:09:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3392933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuboMuzziusFTW/pseuds/BuboMuzziusFTW
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As much as Jack was always willing to change, there was a a part of him that never wanted anything to ever be different. But the world is changing around him, and it's all he can do to keep up. (A quick little Newsies/ Fiddler on the Roof crossover idea I had. Might write more if you guys particularly like it.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Newsies On the Roof

Hey. So I’ve been thinking, ya know, about the newsies and such. How to describe ‘em.

It suddenly came to me the other day, one of the Irish kids was out late on the roof of some building or another, playing fiddle. He was really into it too, swaying along with his playing, and I, of course, thought he was gonna fall and get himself killed. But he didn’t, somehow.

And, really, the more I thinks about it, we’re all that kid fiddler on the roof. Trying to scratch out a simple tune without breaking our necks.

How we newsies keep ourselves balanced? Simple, really.

Just our traditions, if that’s what you fancy calling them.

We may be the very bottom of the social ladder but we still got enough rules to keep ourselves in line. There’s traditions for everything, how to sleep, how to sell, how to keep yourself from starving. How to wear clothes too, if you count always keeping your hat on, if only to take it off respectfully when you got someone buying, and never wearing the exact same thing for more than a week.

Now, for the most part it’s logical and all that, but I’m sure you’re asking why they got started? I’ll tell you.

… I don’t know.

But they are what they are, and it’s these traditions that keep our little newsie family from falling apart. They tell us how to live our lives, and also gives us a sense of our positions amongst ourselves.

‘Course, after the strike, everyone’s been looking up to me as their fearless leader, and I’ve heard that I’ve become the sort of father figure to most of the Manhattan kids. You know, the role of the valiantly hard working one who has to make enough extra so he can spot a few cents to whoever needs it to keep themselves fed and warm, but also keeps things running and always has the right to the final word on anything that’d affect the newsies as a whole. Being the model papa the kids never had, and feel like they need in their lives.

Oh. Yeah.

Then there’s David. The mother none of us ever had. Or wanted, really.

Except worse, because as far as the other kids go, he’s nice enough for the most part. Gotten pickier, perhaps, the more nights he spends in the lodging house, but nice enough. Then, he’s up in my face, flicking at my forehead and shoulder and giving me all sorts of empty threats to wake me up before Kloppmann comes to get everyone else moving, because it’s responsible and all that. I likely will never understand how he’s up so early on his own, but I’ve already come to terms with the fact I’ll never really get David.

But I suppose he makes a good enough mother that we have all had our moments of recognizing how much we need our Walking Mouth to keep us organized and on time. Now that Les is back in school, he seems to have taken on trying to raise most of the orphan newsie population into some sort of respectable people, and I’m completely behind him, but not exactly being any too helpful either. New York needs more people like David, newsies or otherwise, but that ain’t the sort of person most newsies are, and it doesn’t exactly help for anything outside your moral standpoint, and for all he’s working, it isn’t going anywhere any too fast. Then again, I also heard Kloppmann say that he’s never seen the bunkroom cleaner than when he sets David on it, but that really just shows David’s… David-ness. He’s all about the background work, but puts it together so neatly no one can tell he was there, and all the fame and fortune goes to me.

And I’m not complaining about that, of course.

I’m complaining about Racetrack’s need to comment on how wonderful a housewife David is, and that I should really get on planning the wedding.

But that’s his place, I guess, as much as it pains the rest of us, since every newsie has his own place and does what he does to stay there.

But there are the ones everyone should know to get along as a newsie in Manhattan.

Crutchy, for one. Sweetest gimp you’ll ever meet, and not a fake either, but still a closet romantic in his time and takes it as his calling to set up the couples he sees as needing the help. Race would never admit it, but he gets all into the matchmaking business too, but if you ask him, and he’ll tell you it’s all because people are readable and easy to bet on. Ask Crutchy, and he’s apparently got him as an Italian going through passion withdrawals.

Ask me, and I’ll just leave it you to say who’s crazier.

Medda’s another, and the higher up newspaper folks along with most of the original strikers also belong on that list, but there has to be a special case made for Spot Conlon.

There isn’t much too say, but since he’s heard that his name has got the kids in Philly jittery, I don’t imagine I’d need to tell much about the king of Brooklyn. He’s well known and respected for a reason, and there’s all sorts of stories and rumors I could tell you about him that range from yarns I couldn’t spin if I tried to things that might actually be fact, but I just want to tell my story, and not get all tangled up in the web of Spot Conlon mysteries, if I can help it.

Then there’s everyone else that lives in the city, forming bigger circles amongst themselves and filling all of the social classes, and getting into all that complicated society stuff driven by actual adults and not people like me and Davey. They mostly ignore us, and we desperately try for their money, but they don’t bother us, and we try not to pester them too much. It’s just how it works.

And amongst ourselves, we’ve always gotten along just fine. I mean, there was the time Race got his hands on some trick dice, and in ‘experimenting with craps’ managed to cheat Blink out of most all his money. Race still denies they were weighted to this day, and Blink still flares up at anything about dice, but now, it’s all over. These days the entire bunk house lives together in peace and harmony, you know.

And I’m not saying the dice weren’t fair, but don’t let Race lie to you. They were absolutely unfair, and none of us ever stood a chance.

But life goes on, and we’re still out selling papes the same way they did years ago, same traditions and whatnot. Really, we need anything we can cling to, and the consistency of tradition is great. Without them we’d just be… We would be that kid, fiddling on the roof, but with no balance.

In other words, well, we’d be dead.


End file.
